


The monster in my dreams

by Arubi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bitterness, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Mama Stilinski Feels, Stilinski Family Feels, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:23:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arubi/pseuds/Arubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had to move. His breathing started stopping and he panicked, causing the buzz in his brain to explode and him to squirm and shake and try to get out. His mother tried calming him down, holding his hand and telling him to feel her pulse and breathe. It worked. Then the monster who would hunt his dreams forever came and took her away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The monster in my dreams

Stiles’s mother didn’t die of cancer. No. Her death was an abrupt thing which happened too slowly. Stiles was six, twice as bouncy and three times as fidgety. His parents thought that it was just his personality, Stiles would have blamed them for that, but he knew he was the only one who heard that constant ringing buzzing voice in his head every time he tried to stay still, he had to keep moving, or it would start again.

Once they were in the car, just him and his mother going to the store late at night to buy a take-away pizza for them to eat while watching a classic movie. The sheriff was at home, sitting on the couch and waiting for them with a beer in hand. But on the way there the buzzing got really loud, Stiles had to move. His breathing started stopping and he panicked, causing the buzz in his brain to explode and him to squirm and shake and try to get out. His mother tried calming him down, holding his hand and telling him to feel her pulse and breathe. It worked. Then the monster who would hunt his dreams forever came and took her away.

She was too distracted by her hyperventilating son to notice the truck coming at them, the car swirled and she wrapped herself around Stiles, cocooning him as they smashed against the window’s glass, broken fragments twisting and penetrating her skin.

Neither of them knew what happened afterwards, Stiles was delirious by the time they had entered the ER. She on the other hand had several tubes stuck inside of her pumping her with blood, morphine and god knows what. The surgery was successful. The sheriff thought that when the surgeon announced that the next twenty four hours were critical, it was a good thing. Except when someone didn’t survive that long.

He looked down at his son, seated with warm grey blankets wrapped around him, shaking fervently with huge brown eyes and biting his lower lip to muffle his tears, hands around his knees. The bitterness and absolute rage that burst through the sheriff at that moment surprised him, it forced him to grasp his mouth with his hand and go far away from his son, making sure he wouldn’t spew things he’d regret.

His son wasn’t to blame. It was a condition. They couldn’t have known at such an age. Yet those reasons seemed to fade away too easily and drift away in the back of his mind, replaced instead by a gutting hatred at seeing his mother’s murderer.

When dad looked at him a few metres away, Stiles looked up anxiously.  His own body suddenly stopped shivering; instead he was overwhelmed by warmth that screamed safe. His eyes slowly widened when his dad didn’t move forward to hug him, or to say anything. Instead the gaze directed towards him by his father was the same look – the same eyes he directed at the criminals and scums he sent to jail.

There was a terrible stillness in the room, filled with a silent and hollow atmosphere. The shivers returned and his Dad turned and left.

After six hours, a man in white clothes with a robotic impassive face and a woman dressed in the same way, albeit shorter and with a pitying sad face approached him.  The sheriff came back after a couple of minutes, perhaps he didn’t leave the hospital – he just stayed away from Stiles. His dad started crying after the conversation, and then entered the room where his mother laid on the bed, her chest rising and falling with stale slowness.

The day after, Stiles woke up in his house’s couch, and for a couple of foggy moments he forgotten what had happened. Until the metallic smell of blood shocked the images back inside his head. Later that night the Sheriff arrived home, a bottle of vodka in one hand, slamming the door and wobbling through the hallway until he arrived in-front of Stiles, straightening himself and staring at the boy.

“You…” He raised his hand and pointed at Stiles, the thoughts he struggled to keep submerged deep inside his brain floating up to the surface, he wanted to scream at him, unleash all the rage he had. The sheriff held tight to the bottle, Stiles thought he was going to break it; he was terrified of that look, the murderous gaze that would haunt him almost as much as the crash.

His dad never once mentioned anything to Stiles, never even implied he blamed him, he cared for him and acted like both a mother and a father – because that’s what his wife wanted. He made sure he held up to the oath he made on her death bed.

Except when the Sheriff had a little too much to drink, or had a particularly long day – because then he would halt in-front of his son and stare at him with those eyes, barely supressing the filth that threatened to break out. Eyes which made Stiles tremble. Then, the day after he’d prepare breakfast and ask him about school and tell him with utmost sincerity that it was in no way Stiles’ fault, and that, above else; He loved Stiles.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to create the situation which would most likely fit with the cannon version. The feeling of the Sheriff are complex and dynamic - and I tried to make him as believable as possible.


End file.
